


One To Love

by 406ink



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jonerys, jon x dany - Freeform, jonerys fluff, jonerys smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-25
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2019-01-05 11:21:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12189027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/406ink/pseuds/406ink
Summary: Written as my take on boat lovin' after the boatsex episode. It was so much more than boatsex ...





	1. One to love ...

_“One to dread, one to bed, and one to love …”_

  
The vision at the House of the Undying had haunted her. It had kept her awake at night.

  
As a young queen, she found herself and her every action being ruled and manipulated by that prophesy.

Constantly questioning and second guessing every interaction, every relationship.

  
Until she shut it off.

  
Until Daenerys decided to be the queen, and damn the woman and what the woman in her wanted.

  
Until the King in the North was summoned.

Until the White Wolf showed up at Dragonstone.

Until he left for beyond the Wall. Until her child, Viserion, died.

Until she nearly lost Jon Snow. And, until he bent the knee.

  
Now Daenerys Stormborn, fierce Khaleesi and Mother of Dragons, struggled with the feelings she had not only as the one true queen, but also her feelings as a mother, a friend, and as a woman.

  
After the Battle of the Frozen Lake to obtain the wight to convince Cersei to call a truce, she’d stood out on the tower at East Watch in the driving snow and the wind and the cold, hoping and praying that Jon Snow would appear. She’d known it was next to impossible, but still she’d hoped. The impossible was possible, she knew. And when he’d been brought aboard her ship and the men had stripped off his frozen furs, and she’d seen his scars for the first time – the one over his heart that he’d said was a merely Davos getting ‘carried away’ she’d felt physical pain at the reality of it.

  
She somehow felt that Jon was hers and she was his, though they’d only just begun to develop the trust and intimacy of their friendship. The queen knew she had no right to feel possessive of him, protective of him, but the woman in her didn’t care. She’d sat with him all through the night, until at last he woke, dark lashes blinking against the light filtering through the windows of her ship. His first words to her were his heartfelt apology, the regret thick in his voice as he took her hand. When she tried to pull away and he wouldn’t let go - this was the moment he won her heart, though she continued to deny it to herself.

  
She remembered him showing her the cave paintings. Petting Drogon. Metaphorically bending the knee from his bed, calling her his queen. Even his stoic honor swearing fealty to her in front of everyone at the dragon pit. His honesty potentially cost them everything, but something in her respected his honest words no matter the consequences. So many little moments, she thought. So many little moments that on their own meant little, but added up to something unbreakable and true. One to love …

  
She’d been sitting at her desk for hours trying to read through the pile of raven scrolls and papers Tyrion had left for her, but she found she could not focus. Her mind kept going back to the private moment they’d stolen at the dragon pit, when he’d told her she wasn’t like anyone else. She’d told him again she couldn’t have children, he’d make a joke about the witch’s credibility. There was something in his dark eyes as he said it, almost as if it were a challenge, as though nothing were insurmountable to him.

  
She had rarely seen him smile, let alone jest, and she thought of how handsome he truly was in that moment. If only she was a mere woman and not the queen, not the Mother of Dragons, or the Unburnt, Khaleesi of the great grass sea, or any of the rest of it. If only she were Dany of the house with the red door and the lemon tree …

  
When there came a knock at the door, it startled her out of her reverie. Thinking it would be Tyrion, she answered and was pleasantly surprised, if more than a little nervous, when she discovered Jon there instead. He didn’t say a word, but she knew why he’d come, saw it clearly in his dark eyes. So often of late she had seen that same wanting reflected in her own as she peered into her looking glass. She dropped her arm, inviting him silently into her cabin. He entered and closed the door with purpose, and her heart fluttered at his nearness; the woman in her sensed his visit was about more than mere political alliance.

  
Without a word, he closed the gap between them and pulled her against him, gathering her in his arms. She tilted her face up to look at him, and he returned her gaze as though he were considering if this was the right thing, the honorable thing. One hand went to cup her cheek; Dany closes her eyes, reveling in the roughness of his skin as he swept his thumb over her cheekbone. In the end, his lips came down on hers, his tongue begging entrance to her mouth, and she let him in. It was the sweetest, most honest moment she had ever shared with anyone.

In that moment, they both removed their armor and dropped their shields. That kiss shattered their defenses; rang true like Valyrian steel and laid them bare to one another.

  
Dany returned his kiss, wrapping her arms about his neck, tangling her fingers in the dark, curly hair that hung over his collar. When they broke the kiss, they rested their foreheads together, eyes closed, both feeling as though they’d found the other half of themselves that they’d been missing their whole lives. This was something strong and true, unlike anything else either of them had ever felt; something unbreakable. One to love …

  
Dany’s fingers hesitated only a moment as she unbuckled and lifted off Jon’s armor, then began to slowly unlace his leather jerkin. She slipped her hands inside, splaying her fingers over his warm chest, feeling the raised ridges of his scars. Jon peeled the jerkin off and let it fall to the floor alongside his armor. For the two of them, time did not exist, the world did not exist, there was no Great War to come, no politics, or whispers, or lies. They existed only for one another.

  
They kissed again, more deeply, as though they were children playing in a stream and having tested the waters, were now prepared to plunge in. Jon’s fingers deftly unfastened the bodice of her dress; Dany, impatient, shrugged it off and tossed it on the growing pile of clothes.

Gods, he thought, taking in the site of her full pink-tipped breasts, she is so beautiful, so unearthly fair. His hands roved her naked back, fingers raking through her long silvery hair, as he pressed her bare chest to his own. He could feel her heart beating along with his own as he touched his lips to her ear, her neck, her collarbone.

  
Everywhere he kissed, he left a trail of liquid fire on her skin. Daenerys felt, perhaps, Jon’s kiss was the one fire, alone, she was vulnerable to. She reached back and pulled the ties holding her skirt, allowing it to drop to the floor. Jon’s hands ventured lower, palming and squeezing the flesh of her ass with rough, calloused hands.

A small moan escaped her as he sucked on a particularly tender bit of flesh below her ear; he responded by picking her up and gathering her into his arms. She wrapped her legs around his hips and held onto his neck as her carried her to the bed in the center of the room, feeling his hardness growing as with each step her molten core rubbed against him through his leather breeches.

  
He set her gently down on the edge of the bed, and kicked off his boots. She looked up at him, eyes nearly black her irises were so dilated at the pleasure of looking at him, bringing her hands to the laces of his trousers. Taking her time, paying so much attention to her task, until the leather slid from his hips to the floor, leaving only his small clothes behind. She ran her hands up his sides, over his ribs, her thumbs coming together over his abs, wandering over the deep “V” muscles and to his hips, then sliding his smallclothes over the perfectly formed globes of his ass. Daenerys heard herself draw in a breath as she looked at the gift he offered her, her lips slightly parted in anticipation of the night to come.

  
Jon looked down, meeting her hungry violet eyes, and he was undone. He moved to lay beside her on the bed, and pulled her on top of him, straddling his thigh. The feeling of her heated flesh on his made him never want to leave this bed, never want to feel clothes or distance between their bodies again.

Their kisses began anew, as if it was the first time they’d ever tasted one another. Jon allowed Dany to set the pace, to be the aggressor, his lips drawn to hers like a moth to a flame. She is the dragon … Her hands roved his naked flesh, stroking the pads of muscle over his ribs, learning the lines of his honed stomach.

  
When he could take it no more, he rolled taking her with him, supporting his weight on his forearms, his lips never leaving hers. His hips sliding between her own, he found her molten center and guided himself to her entrance, thrusting deeply and burying himself in her sweet heat.

Gods, he thought he would spill almost right away, she was so wet for him. She felt a rush of helplessness, a sinking yielding, a surging tide of warmth that left her boneless. He wanted nothing so desperately as to taste her; the sweetness of her breath, the softness of her lips, the saltiness of her skin. So he did, licking her full lips in between kisses and thrusting into her sharply like some kind of wild animal. He is the wolf …

  
Daenerys was no longer a newly and unwillingly married maid, nor was she a novice in the ways of love. She had known one man who undressed her coldly, who took what he wanted from her without kissing, with no true touching, or even looking at her face. One to dread …

Later, when she had learned the power of sex over men, she had modeled herself on Irygenia; the infamous courtesan whom kings had traveled across the world for one night with, whom magisters had sold their palaces for, who it was said could finish a man with one look. She had known one man who she used for her own pleasure and gratification. One to bed …

  
But this, this was something different – for both of them. As if he read her mind, Jon pulled back, looking at her in breathless wonder, his dark eyes searching hers, blazing amethyst fire. She was so beautiful lying there in the candlelight among the silvery satin sheets, her lips pink and bruised from kissing, her chest heaving beneath his, cheeks flushed, hair like spun gold escaping it’s braids, that it was almost physically painful for him to look at her.

Jon drew in a deep, ragged breath, feeling as though his heart might burst. For the first time in his life, in this moment, buried deep inside Daenerys, Jon felt a sense of completeness and belonging.

  
He kissed her again, a greater sense of urgency now spurring his actions. Her hips rose to meet his every thrust, as though she couldn’t get him deep enough inside her. Their movements became less controlled, more animalistic, almost desperate as they chased their pleasure. Her hand wound around his bicep, then his shoulder, nails biting into muscle and flesh. He caught her lower lip between his teeth, pulling at it gently.

  
Low, soft cries came now on her every exhalation of breath. He planted within her a seed of ecstasy, which began first as a tiny pulse, growing more intense with each stroke until it burst. His pubic bone grinding against her engorged bud sent her over the edge. A rainbow of color burst beneath her eyelids, sunshine spread through her veins, and she rode wave after wave of pleasure which touched every nerve end in her body until she was a trembling, liquid mess in his arms.

  
Jon’s own pleasure came soon after; a fiery and icy torrent of rapture which poured from his heart to his balls, then spread through his body, exploding like wildfire. He continued to move, more tenderly now, an incoherent attempt to draw out their pleasure. He felt himself slowly sinking into a velvet pit, going willingly, being consumed by it and never wanting to come up out of it.

  
After the waves of pleasure had subsided, they lay facing one another in the big bed, tangled with one another and the satin sheets. No words were said; there were none necessary - for long ago, Dany had learned that love comes in at the eyes. She looked at him now, and saw him for what he truly was – not a king or a hero or a bastard – she saw him as one to love.


	2. The lord's kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sequel to "One to love..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obvious Jonerys fluff and smut. Hope you enjoy my drabble. Had to do something constructive in the aftermath of boat sex so I began to write fanfics.

Jon had crept quietly from the Queen’s chambers in the early hours, just before dawn’s first light began to wake over the horizon. He’d woken nearly an hour before, Daenerys cradled against his chest. He still couldn’t believe everything that had happened. He’d stood outside her door nearly every night for a week as they traveled from Dragonstone to White Harbor, knuckles hovering over the solid oak door, unable to bring himself to knock.

Last night something had changed, and he’d said fuck it. Life was too short anyway, and now with the Great War to come, who knew how much time he had left – how much time any of them had left.

  
So he’d taken a deep breath, knocked three times and she’d answered the door, clearly expecting someone else – probably Tyrion, her hand – but she let him in anyway. There was some inexplicable connection between them, a small seed planted when he’d landed on Dragonstone that had been nurtured over the course of the weeks he’d been her ‘guest,’ and after the Battle of the Frozen Lake. Neither of them could deny it, nor deny themselves of the other any longer. They’d made love that night – twice, before falling asleep tangled in the sheets and each other.

  
Jon had once held a deep trepidation about laying with a woman; having known what it was like to be born and grow up a bastard, he never wanted to inflict that on his child. While Robb and Theon and the other boys at Winterfell would visit the local brothels, Jon never partook. A fact he took a lot of shit for, especially from Theon.

  
Ygritte had been his first love, the first and only time he’d ever taken such a chance though she’d assured him if he pulled out and did not spill his seed in her, she couldn’t get with child. Somehow with Ygritte it hadn’t seemed that much of a risk; she was so wild and free, and amongst the Wildlings, being a trueborn or natural son did not matter.

  
But it was different with Dany; she was a queen - his queen - and she was the trueborn daughter of a proud house. Even the reality that he had been crowned King in the North, did nothing to change the fact he was the bastard son of Ned Stark – a fact he had chosen to wear like armor since Tyrion Lannister had counseled him outside Winterfell, once when he was feeling low. It was a reckless thing they did, in the face of the wars to come, and the fact that Daenerys was, in fact, so noble.

He’d growled out to her that he was getting close, going to come, fully prepared to pull out and spill his seed on her firm, white belly but she had held him fast, hooking her powerful legs around his ass as his cock pulsed his essence deep within her.

  
She shifted in his arms, rolling over to face him, her hair tangling over her pillow, her face flushed with sleep, lips swollen and pink from his kisses. The quiet song of her breath the only stirring in the darkness.

Somehow her hand found his under the pillow, her skin like the petals of a rose against his rough, calloused hand. He lay there for a long time, just looking at her and how the moonlight and shadows played over her sleeping form. He thought about what she’d told him several times now; that she could never have children and that the dragons were the only children she’d ever have.

Perhaps that had been why she hadn’t been concerned with him coming inside her. Jon was worried enough for both of them however. He could not, would not father a bastard child. And so, in the small hours before dawn, he formulated a plan as he watched her sleep, and crept back to his own cabin before anyone else was about.

All through the day both Jon and Daenerys were busy formulating plans for the defense of the Realm with Ser Davos, Tyrion and their other trusted advisors. There was much work to be done. Still, Jon found himself lost in thought once or twice, remembering her scalding touch. Once, Davos even had to ask him the same question twice, telling him to ‘snap out of it.’ He chanced a look at Dany then, and she quickly averted her eyes to the map on the table, a blush rising on her cheeks.

When they’d paused for the midday meal, the seriousness dissolved into happy chatter and laughter, everyone busy eating and talking. It took the pressure off Jon and Dany to have to talk, and no one seemed to notice the sidelong looks they shared, or how their hands “accidentally” touched now and then.   
When at last night fell and dinner had been cleared away, most everyone retired to their own cabins. He was surprised by the knock at his door, and seeing his beautiful queen standing there in her nightdress of flimsy white silk, a thin shift hanging off her shoulders.

She opened the door and stepped back, allowing her to slip inside. She immediately set to kissing him, and he couldn’t keep his hands off her. He walked her backwards to the large bed, falling together onto it as her the backs of her knees met the edge of the feather-filled mattress. She giggled – a light, silvery sound that reminded Jon of the tinkling of silver bells. “Take your shirt off,” she said softly, “I want to look upon you.”

  
He obliged her, grasping the hem and pulling the black wool shirt over his head, tossing it to the floor. He came down over her, putting his weight on his arms. She ran her fingers over his shoulders, back and down his muscular arms, letting out a happy humming sound. “Do I please you, my Queen?” he asked, cocking a dark eyebrow at her. “You’ll do,” she said, her face serious for only a moment before she dissolved into laughter. He smiled at her and kissed her lips lightly, nuzzling the side of her nose with his own.

“You should smile more often, Jon Snow. You are quite comely, even when you brood, but when you smile …” she trailed off, kissing the line of his jaw up to his ear “… it shatters me into a million little pieces,” she whispered, her breath warm and moist against his neck.

  
A shiver went through his body, though he fought to control it. His rigid cock strained against the confines of his leather pants. He allowed her to kiss and lick his earlobe and neck, gently nipping at his flesh now and again, but when she began to suck at the flesh of his neck, causing his cock to jerk, he pulled back. “You keep that up,” he rasped out, “you’ll finish me before I even get started.”

He graced her with another smile. She traced a delicate finger over his full lips. “You keep that up,” she mimicked, “you’ll finish me before I even get started.”  
This deepened his smile even more. He bent his head to kiss her, swiping his tongue across her lower lip and dipping it into her mouth for a passionate kiss. He moved slowly down her body, kissing and licking her neck and collarbone, then turning his attention to her breasts. Even the barrier of her nightdress posed no challenge to him; he grasped the neckline with his hands and tore it in two.

As his lips found her nipple, gently sucking the pebbled nub into his mouth and nipping at it lightly, she could not help but arch her back and cry out. She felt him smile against her breast. “Savage,” she moaned. “You fucking brute.” She felt a rush of moisture between her legs, and squeezed her thighs together against the building pressure there.

  
Jon had never heard Daenerys curse. He found it sent a new surge of blood straight to his dick hearing her filthy mouth, playfully calling him a ‘savage’ and a ’brute.’ He would oblige her he thought, and slid his knee between her legs, forcing them apart.

He halted his slow descent down her body to lavish attention on her breasts, his touch becoming slightly rougher as he palmed her breasts while pinching and pulling at her nipples until they stood out proud and hard. She thrashed beneath him, throwing her head back and moaning his name, “Jon.”

  
He moved lower, ripping the last few remaining inches of silk apart to reveal her fleshy mons, crowned with a neatly trimmed thatch of silver-gold hair. Her lips were bare and he could see she was wet for him, her juices beginning to trickle down her slit. Jon trailed his hand from her ankle, over her calf muscle to her thigh, then ghosted his palm over her sex, slipping his thumb between her moist folds. He sought out her engorged clit, and finding it, he worked his thumb back and forth over it until she was writhing beneath him, a string of incoherent words escaping her lips on a breathy moan.

  
He slid his body between her legs, grasping her thighs and pushing them roughly open. Her eyes flew open and she tried to sit up, but he held her fast. Her eyes met his, and he held her gaze, also gifting her with a wicked grin. “What are you doing?” she asked breathlessly, sounding a bit alarmed.

  
“I’m going to kiss you,” he answered, his voice thick and husky with lust.  
“What do you mean? There?” she asked, her eyes wide. Daario had sometimes touched her there, as Jon had done with his thumb to hasten her pleasure, but she had never even considered the possibility of a man putting his mouth on her there. The idea was shocking to her.  
As though she had dared him, he bent his head and placed a soft kiss on her mons, keeping his dark eyes on hers, curious to see her response.

To Dany, this was the single most erotic thing she had ever experienced. She had propped herself up on her elbows, and sat watching him, uncertain what he’d do next.

  
Jon used his thumbs to gently part her nether lips, and he heard her sharp intake of breath when he placed his mouth on her. She tasted both sweet and tangy, like a candied violet he’d once been given as a child. He lapped at her folds, alternately dragging his tongue from the bottom of her cleft to the top and flicking his tongue slowly over her clit in feather light strokes. Her hand came down to tangle in his hair, and it wasn’t long before her thighs began to quake around his face .

Jon couldn’t have stopped, even if he’d wanted to. She tasted so good, and he was so turned on by the harsh cries escaping from her throat, the way she writhed beneath him and dug her nails into his scalp.

  
She came with a rush of moisture, coating his lips, mustache and beard. Jon felt her clit pulsing beneath his lips, and did his best to drink her juices, not wanting to waste a drop of Daenerys. A satisfied groan reverberated in his chest, as he increased his grip on her hips and buried his tongue as deep inside her as it would go.

A secondary wave of pleasure overtook her, and her body shook with the force of her orgasm. Jon stayed between her legs lightly licking and kissing her clit, her body drawn taut as a bowstring as she rode out the ecstasy, bucking her hips up into his face until the last of the aftershocks had passed and she finally melted into a boneless puddle on the sheets.

  
He stood and unlaced his pants, then slid them down his legs and kicked them off before falling beside her on the bed. Daenerys floated back to earth, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks several times before she finally opened her eyes to look at him. She felt an unexpected tightness in her throat, and tears threatened to spill from her eyes so she quickly looked away, not understanding full what was happening to her. “Dany,” Jon whispered, cupping her cheek and turning her face back to his, “love, what is it? What’s the matter? Have I … have I hurt you in some way?” His eyes were tender and full of concern for her.

  
Gods, she thought, what is happening to me? “No, Jon … never … you didn’t hurt me. I just … I can’t …” was all she could see before she was wracked with sobs. He gathered her to him, pressing her cheek to his chest, pulling the top sheet up over them both. “Shhh,” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. “Whatever it is, love, let me take the weight of it off your shoulders. You’ve been carrying your burdens all alone for far too long. Let me carry them for you.” He held her, just held her, until her sobs became sniffles and at last she drifted into sleep.

  
He lay listening to her quiet, even breathing; the fact that he’d found no pleasure long forgotten. His mind was extremely weary, but also extremely busy. He did not fully understand what was happening between him and Daenerys, only that he could not bear to be near her and he could not bear to be parted from her. Both were agonizing. He knew that whatever this was, the timing was awful. The army of the dead was marching on the North. The Lannister army could very well be marching on them as well; he trusted Cersei about as far as he could throw her. And then there was the fact that he’d spent his seed inside her twice last night, and the possibility of Daenerys becoming pregnant. He smiled at the thought of that.

  
A child with Daenerys, with my Queen, he thought. In his mind’s eye, he pictured her standing beside the hearth in the great hall at Winterfell, beautiful and glowing, belly swollen with his child. It was the first time in many years he had allowed himself any such flight of fancy; he’d never dreamed of fathering children. As a mere boy, as a bastard, he’d thought the best he could hope for was to join the Night’s Watch. He’d taken his vow at 14, swearing to take no wife, to father no children. But all that had changed the moment his traitorous brothers had stabbed him in the heart. His watch had ended. Still, he’d never considered he would ever be anything more than a bastard, and what respectable woman would want to wed with a bastard? He’d never expected to hold lands, nor titles, never thought to be a lord, and certainly not King in the North. His mind rambled and buzzed down one rabbit hole and then the next, thoughts coming and going in no particular order.

  
Eventually Jon drifted off to sleep and dreamt wondrous dreams. He dreamt of the Godswood at Winterfell, covered with a fresh white blanket of snow. The sun winter streaming down through the red leaves of the Weirwood tree. Daenerys, gowned all in white, cheeks rosy from the cold and with a crown of winter roses atop her head, holding his hand as they said their wedding vows before the Old Gods. Bending down and pressing his lips to hers while their friends and family looked on. Everything felt so real.  
His dream flashed forward to him, Jon, leaning against the stone archway leading to the Godswood watching Daenerys. His wife. She didn’t know he was there. It was spring, and she sat beneath the heart tree, skirts spread out around her, a baby with golden curls in her arms, as she watched two small dark-haired children play beside the pool. One of the children – a little boy with violet eyes – noticed him, and happily exclaimed, “Father! Father! Come play with us!”

  
He was pulled from his dream by a banging noise. He heard Davos’ muffled voice, calling to him from the other side of the door. He struggled to wake, his body tired and sluggish, and had to fight the desire to stay there in the Godswood with her and their children. He blinked his eyes, and realized morning had come.

The room was dimly lit by early morning sunshine streaming through the windows, and he was warm for the first time in forever. He suddenly realized why: the sleeping form of Daenerys was pressed against him, her naked back curved to nestle into the hollow of his body. Another knock.

  
As gently as he could, he slid away from her and out of the bed, hoping he didn’t wake her. He tucked the sheet around her, then pulled the furs up over her. He put on his robe, tying the sash loosely about his waist. He went to the door and opened it a crack to see what Davos wanted. This better be good, he thought to himself. “Ser Davos,” he rasped, then saw Missandei standing slightly behind him. He furrowed his brow. “Is aught amiss?”

  
“Forgive me for disturbing you, Your Grace,” Davos said sounding slightly alarmed, “but the Queen can’t be found. When Missandei went to the Queen’s cabin this morning, she found no trace of her. The bed hadn’t been slept in. I’ve searched nearly the entire ship, and Missandei is becoming quite alarmed. Thought it best if you could do a second sweep of the ship, before we raise the alarm to everyone else.”

  
Fuck me, Jon thought. He opened the door and gestured for both Davos and Missandei to step inside, closing it quickly behind them. He gestured to the bed. Davos and Missandei looked at the bed and eyed Jon curiously, seeing at first only a pile of furs and mussed bedding. Missandei looked at Jon, then crept closer to the bed. She saw that the furs were rising and falling softly, and saw the Queen’s unmistakable silver-gold hair, fanned out over the pillow. She turned to look at Jon, who looked right back at her, unabashedly. Davos arched his eyebrows at Jon in silent question, to which Jon responded with a slight shrug of his shoulders.

  
Missandei, looking mildly annoyed, crossed to where Jon stood beside Davos and whispered, “The others will start asking questions if Queen Daenerys doesn’t show up this morning to break her fast with them as usual. What shall I tell them?”

  
“Tell them that their Queen is too busy strategizing with the Warden of the North to break her fast. They need know no more than that.”

  
The three conspirators – Jon, Davos and Missandei – were startled by the strong, clear voice of Daenerys Targaryen addressing them from the bed, where she now sat up wrapped in a black silk sheet.

To her, they looked for all the world like three naughty children caught planning a scheme to get extra pudding. She shared a knowing look with Missandei, one that spoke of many things. “Come, Ser Davos,” Missandei said softly.

“Yes,” Davos replied giving Jon a look, “let us leave them to their ‘strategizing.’”


End file.
